


Full Cycle

by femmenerd



Series: Full Cycle [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Death Fix, Episode: s02e17 Heart, F/M, Fix-It, POV Female Character, Werewolves, Women Being Awesome, Women Out of Refrigerators, Women of Supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-03-25
Updated: 2007-03-25
Packaged: 2018-01-13 16:35:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1233517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/femmenerd/pseuds/femmenerd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spoilers for SPN 2.17 “Heart.” AU. </p><p> </p><p>  <i>The feeling Madison gets in the pit of her stomach during the week before the full moon becomes visceral as a menstrual cramp, physical as lust soaking through her panties, heavy and wet.  Never before in her life has she been so aware of time passing, of cycles.</i></p><p> </p><p>Originally posted on LJ <a href="http://femmenerd.livejournal.com/191299.html">[here].</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Full Cycle

The feeling Madison gets in the pit of her stomach during the week before the full moon becomes visceral as a menstrual cramp, physical as lust soaking through her panties, heavy and wet. Never before in her life has she been so aware of time passing, of cycles.

By the third month she’s started bleeding during her “wolf time,” so even if there were any possibility that she’d forget or lose track of the days, that’s all null and void anyway. And after that first hopeful time, they don’t fuck then, she and Sam. They have to be fully alert, watchful, he says, and she agrees.

She knows it’s not because he’s squeamish about the facts and fluids of bodies. Tentative, gentlemanly overgrown boy that he is in front of the rest of the world, Sam surprises her still with the lengths he’ll go to get her off–the earthiness of him. How his brow furrows with serious enthusiasm when he’s eating her out, tongue straying to her asshole as he watches her face, his index finger circling her clit. He doesn’t flinch when she kisses him with traces of his come between her lips. No, if they were regular people, she’s pretty sure they’d be screwing with a towel underneath during “that time of the month.” 

But they aren’t and they don’t.

She knows more about him now. Things that make her realize retrospectively that it wasn’t just his inherent altruism that spurred Sam to fight so hard for her not to give up–reasons that made the tears roll down his face even harder when her shaking hands transferred his gun from his palm to hers that day.

“I really am going to save you,” he bawled. 

“Okay,” she said, praying he was right. 

Madison knows there’s a darkness inside Sam that he doesn’t understand, a shadow that’s been hanging overcast for his entire life. She can tell from his face when he’s thinking about it–the downward wrinkle of his mouth when he thinks she and Dean aren’t paying attention. It reminds her not to get too caught up in her own fear for herself; it makes her guiltily glad that there’s a name for her “problem.”

~

It wasn’t easy for her–leaving the world as she knew it behind. Not just San Francisco, which she loved, but the kind of relative innocence in which muggers, murderers and rapists were the worst things out there in the night. 

She misses the salt smell of the ocean, impossibly steep streets and burritos the size of your head. Sometimes Madison longs for martinis and over-priced fruity drinks from bars where they imprint the monogrammed match books in gold. Now it’s generic beer and dive bars, answering phones at an auto shop, and denim every day instead of heels and skirts. 

It’s a different kind of freedom; a new kind of prison from before. 

~

“I wanted to be a lawyer,” Sam whisper-kisses into her shoulder blade one night.

“So did I,” she answers, twisting and turning so she can kiss his mouth. He and Dean were away for an entire week fighting something or other and practically since the moment the Impala rolled into Bobby’s driveway, Sam and Madison haven’t gotten out of bed.

“Why didn’t you go to law school?” Sam asks between wet, syrupy kisses. His voice is low and ragged, sending a resurgence of heat to her sore cunt. “You would have been great.”

She sighs and pulls the covers up for emotional protection. “Yeah, tell that to my father.”

“Oh,” he says, his sweet mouth rounding around the single syllable. There’s more there behind his frown, but she doesn’t ask. With Sam sometimes it seems like there’s always more. 

They’re both quiet for a long moment, save for the sounds of their arhythmic breaths echoing through the tiny room in the back of the shop that’s technically hers alone. Then he turns to the side, heaving his heavy body so he can look at her better, giving her the soul-eyed look that makes Madison feel a little like he needs a mother more than a lover. She wants to see him smile instead. 

So she pokes the hardened groove at the center of his chest, teasing, “You would have made a terrible lawyer. You’re too _good_.”

Sam tosses a pillow at her and Madison catches it, grinning. She jumps up to straddle him and leans in until the tips of her hair graze his nipples. His breath catches and she says, “You wear your heart on your sleeve, Sam. It’s my favorite thing about you.”

“Okay then,” Sam relents with a soft laugh, and tackles her back, pinning her body down to nip at the back of her neck, his cock hard once again, smearing wetly against the small of her back. When he inevitably nudges lower–their bodies seem to be magnetically linked at crotch level–she hisses.

“Am I hurting you?” Sam asks, sounding concerned but panting still. “Is it too much?”

“Uh well, there is this slight issue of ‘penis burn’ going on,” Madison says, repressing her giggles by biting into the fleshy part of her hand. It’s hard not to laugh–Sam sounds so _earnest_ even when he’s trying to fuck her for the fourth time in one night. 

“Oh, right,” he says, and starts to move his body away from hers, obviously trying not to sound disappointed. 

“Sam,” she stops him by wrapping her hand firmly around his dick. “There is that _other place_ , you know.”

His dimples erupt as he blushes, reaching for the lube. “Is that what they’re calling it these days?” 

Sam’s gentle with his fingers as he slowly slips one then two of them into her ass, and Madison marvels for what seems like the millionth time about the way he mixes sweetness with the naked fervor of his lust–the way he sometimes tries to hold back with both and always fails. His face looks angelic when he finally pushes inside her with his cock, the muscles in his neck taut as he hoists her knees up, and she stops analyzing what they’re doing then and just lets go. 

~

Later Madison wonders if that streak of compassion running through the core of him makes Sam a better hunter or not. She was supposed to be prey, after all. 

~ 

Madison doesn’t turn at all if she stays up all night, sleeping only during the day. Of course, Dean and Sam still trade turns standing watch outside the padlocked door to the basement on the nights when she’s locked down there–they all agree that’s the only way to be sure. It becomes oddly routine; she even gets to watch her soaps–Sam bolted a TV/VCR combo to a corner of the ceiling and Madison saves up the entire month of AMC on videotape. 

Madison knows she’s here–alive–against Dean’s first instincts, that his love for his brother is most of the reason he cautiously relented. She doesn’t take it personally–it was her initial impulse as well. Of course, for so long most of her first impulses were to give up, submit to “fate”–that’s how she ended up with bad boyfriend after bad boyfriend and a job she liked all right but didn’t challenge her. She’s fulfilling no grand ambitions here, but every day Madison doesn’t have to say, “Yes sir,” or make coffee for people who wouldn’t brew it for her is a small revelation. 

Also, she knows more about Dean now too. She knows he cares as much as Sam does about saving people even if his softness is less overt; she knows he cares more about saving _Sam_ than Sam does.

They’re all learning here. 

~

“You don’t have to–I mean, you’re not stuck with me that way,” Madison said the first time she and Sam were alone within proximity of a bed after the long drive from California.

Sam looked shocked, affronted. He bowed his head and said, “I don’t sleep with people out of pity.” Then softer, “I hope you don’t either.”

That’s when she realized that he was just as afraid as she was, just as hurt. She touched her fingers to his clenched fist and said, “I’m grateful to you, Sam, but that’s not what this is about. I just wanted you to know...”

There was no wall immediately handy that time but Sam slammed into her anyway, lifting Madison’s body up, buttressing her ass with outstretched hands until she felt weightless. He bit her lip lightly and moaned into her mouth, “I fuckin’ _want you._ ”

The needy thrust of his tongue in her mouth convinced her it was the truth. 

~

Sam kisses like he’s starving. Madison still doesn’t know him very well, but she’s pretty sure that he is. 

~

Madison is good at research. She always has been. In college she used to practically live in the library. In fact, her alternate dream besides being a lawyer would have been to go to grad school and become an academic, literature maybe. Of course, she ended up majoring in something practical–business–because that’s what her Daddy was paying for. 

Now she’s putting her skills with internet search engines to work in ways she never would have dreamed. She finds at least half the jobs that Sam and Dean go on these days. Madison likes feeling useful–it’s good. 

Of course it’s also her prowess at research that’s leading Madison back in circular routes to the conclusion that Dean–that everyone but Sam–was right: there’s no getting rid of the wolf inside of her. 

~

The first flash of memory takes Madison utterly by surprise. She’s getting out of the shower and toweling off her hair–it’s almost sundown and time for her to go down into the basement for the last night this month–when suddenly she can _feel_ what it was like. She tastes the blood of the men her wolf-self killed; she remembers the fear writ across their faces as she attacked. But worst of all, she can recall how powerful she felt, how vengeful. It felt good.

Tears of shame flood down her face when she tells Sam. At first she can’t look at him, but the longer she holds herself at bay, the more she can feel him vibrating beside her, can detect tiny fluxes in his biorhythms. That’s the best she can explain it–the way it feels like she can see him without looking at him. 

To say that this is disturbing would be putting it mildly.

But when she looks up, Sam has his thinky face on, the one that means he’s concentrating hard. It’s not the expression she’d imagined–fear and horror. 

“Maddie,” he says slowly, rolling her name over his tongue in this way that at another time would make her want to jump him right then and there. “I think this might be a good sign.”

She stares at him like he’s insane, but Sam keeps talking, scratching at his hair and shifting in his seat. He always does that–like there needs to be external signs that that big brain of his is in action. 

“Here’s the thing–I’m pretty sure that part of why you couldn’t control the wolf was because _you_ were divorced from it. I mean, not totally, obviously, since you never tried to kill me, or Dean, which is kind of impressive really ‘cause there are usually times _I_ want to kill him most days.” Sam’s grinning now, ebullient. “If you can remember what happened when you were the wolf, it might work the other way around too–it could mean that you’d be able to control yourself then.” 

Madison nods her head slowly, wiping her tears away with the back of her hand. There’s a logic to what he’s saying, but she’s still unsure, half because of a scepticism she can’t shake and half because she’s still sick to her stomach from the violence in her head. But when she looks into Sam’s face, she sees a hope there she can’t bear to extinguish. Not yet anyway. 

She sighs. “Okay, Sam, we’ll talk about this later, but now I need to go on down to my cage.”

When he winces at her choice of words, Madison immediately feels sorry and kisses him gently. “Walk me?” she asks, and he does. 

In the long hours of the night, she thinks good and hard, pacing over the concrete floor in an attempt to dispel the jitters brought on by the fact that she can _hear_ the difference in Sam and Dean’s heartbeats outside the door. By moonrise, she’s realized that Sam needs this as much as she does–her redemption could taste just a little like his own imagined and sought after salvation. But by the time the sun’s come up, she’s also knows that she owes it to herself to figure out what’s happening to her–to save herself if she can.

~

The next day when she should be sleeping–when Sam is–Madison finds Dean in the garage. He’s under the Impala covered in grease, and she starts to smile. Dean’s joyful love of his car, of cars in general, is starting to overpower the bad associations with auto mechanics at large she had left over from Kurt. 

“Did he tell you?” she asks point blank, kicking her toe into the ground. 

Dean gets up slowly, wiping his hands off on his jeans as he looks up. “Yeah,” is all he says, his face unreadable.

“Well,” she starts, pushing her voice not to shake, “do you think there’s any truth to the theory?”

“That you could be a tame wolfie?” 

Madison gulps. “Pretty much.”

Dean waits torturous seconds before speaking again and Madison only realizes that she’s been holding her breath essentially since she walked in here when he finally says, “For Sammy’s sake, I hope so.” Then he rushes, more awkward than she’s ever seen him, “And for you too, I mean. Despite your iffy taste in dudes, you’re all right.” 

She smiles, he smiles, and then Dean’s patting her on the back gingerly. 

When Madison slips back into bed beside Sam, he snuffles half awake, wrapping her up in massive armloads of boy. She relaxes into his embrace and laughs out loud in a short burst. 

“Wha?” Sam asks, sleepy and disoriented.

“Shhh,” she soothes, “dorkiness just runs in your family, that’s all.” 

“Humph,” he rumbles, and encloses one of her breasts in the palm of his hand. “You wanna?” he suggests a minute later as his other hand migrates between her thighs.

“Hell yes,” she says, and lets him cover her with his weight. A week is a long time.

~

It takes two more lunar cycles before Madison’s willing–ready–to put herself through the test that they all know comes next–allowing herself to turn again. 

During that period, she spends the bulk of her time when she’s not working feeling out the new aspects of her senses. They’re coming on stronger all the time: heightened smell, hearing, taste, and _god_ , touch. 

The physical attraction between her and Sam is thick and overwhelming, like nothing she’s ever experienced in her life. He’s such a “nice boy” it surprises her–how trust can turn her on like this, make her throb for him. Just the idea of the things she’s willing to let him do to her, the kinds of hard–and soft–touches that feel safe, makes her sweat.

Safe. Even when her entire existence feels dangerous. Even though this whole thing between them came on suddenly, coinciding with the complete upheaval of her life.

Still, it’s terrifying in theory, and she knows it must be for him as well. When she looks into his blown open face as she rides him, his mouth open and cherubic, eyes wide, Madison wonders at what it must be like for Sam to expose himself in any way to a lover who might turn into a _literal_ evil thing, not just a nasty episode in a history of exes. Of course, it rarely occurs to her that she’s in the same situation herself. 

It’s a strange, waiting time. When the boys are gone and she’s alone with Bobby, who she likes but only has so much to say to, Madison reads novel after novel, more than she has since undergrad. She finally tells her parents that she’s left San Francisco. Her mother cries and her father rails at her rash stupidity for running away with some lowlife guy–it’s what they always expected of her. But something snaps deep inside and instead of keeping quiet like she once would have, Madison hears her voice lower what seems like an octave and says, “I ran away with myself, Dad. Deal with it.”

~

“It’s not the end of the world if it doesn’t work this time,” Sam says, holding up the tranquilizer gun. 

“I know,” Madison says in return, but it doesn’t entirely feel that way. She wants this to _work_. She wants to be in control. She doesn’t want him to see her like _that_ again. 

But there’s no avoiding that–Sam won’t let Dean do this alone any more than Dean would be okay with it the other way around. 

“Okay, here goes nothing,” she says as she lies down on the mattress they dragged down to the basement. Sam kneels next to her, gun in hand, and kisses her forehead. 

Across the room, she can _feel_ Dean roll his eyes. “You two are a couple of mushy freaks. Emphasis on the mushy. Emphasis on the freaks.”

“Shut up, Dean!” they say in tandem, and Sam grins, sincere but clearly working hard at his smile.

Madison closes her eyes. She wills herself to sleep. 

~

When Madison wakes up everything she thought she’d known about what the world–about what being _alive_ –is like feels different, yet familiar. 

She touches her hands to her face and winces–her claws drew blood. She opens her mouth to speak and can’t...nothing but a howl comes out. It echoes against the concrete walls; it stirs her blood. 

She hears sounds coming out of Sam’s mouth, but at first she doesn’t recognize them as words, not until she concentrates incredibly hard on what he’s saying, which is complicated because the buzzing of _the air_ is a distraction. 

“Maddie,” he says, “are you here with me?”

She nods her head. 

~

“I don’t want–I don’t want to do that again any time soon,” she whispers into Sam’s shoulder in the shower the next day. 

“Okay,” he says softly, and she can smell the salt in his tears. 

She raises her hand to the tan muscles of his back, only confirming the tremors she already knew were there. “Why is it like this for me?” she asks. “Do you think there are more...of us...out there?”

“I don’t know,” he says, and turns around to face her, lifting her up against the tiled wall for a ferocious kiss. “We’ll figure it out.”

 

~

Three and half weeks later, Madison wakes up with Sam’s cock sandwiched between her thighs, the now-familiar heat and hardness of it pulsing against her skin. She’s sleepy and horny and glad he’s there–no further thoughts. He reaches between her legs and she lets out a soft sigh of recognition, of comfort and desire. But when Sam’s fingers come back up painted red, Madison recoils, scooting away from him like he’s on fire. 

Sam just crawls towards her on his hands and knees–a tender prowl–and says, “It’s okay, Maddie. It’s going to be okay.”

They fuck slowly, carefully this time, looking each other in the eyes. After, they lie still, connected. She strokes his hair and listens to his heart beat, the rushing of blood in his veins. Sam’s so big, he’s almost crushing her, collapsed the way he is, but Madison doesn’t care. 

She hears him whisper into the slick skin between her breasts. She tells him, “Say that again, Sam.”

“I love you,” he says, craning his neck up. 

But she knows that what he said the first time was, “ _Now_ I can love you.” 

It’s okay though–she understands.


End file.
